A maid. Of all the things that fever dream could have made her. A maid.

  I could have used this earlier… A maid.

  Zara pushed herself up then froze as a sharp crack echoed through the room, followed by the grind of stone on stone. Grit sifted from her joints, hairline fractures crawling across the larger slabs of her body. And there it was: a single long fissure running straight across her torso.

  She had expected something like this to happen. What she hadn’t expected was the dread of seeing it, painless as it was. As if she were looking inside herself on the operating table.

  Maid or not, still better than nurse. At least it’s just stone.

  She told herself that picking a nurse still wouldn’t have helped her now. The thought of her expiration date gnawed at her, slowly eroding her optimism. All she could do was keep moving. Upstairs, maybe. She wanted—needed—to be outside. The walls pressed too close, her own body closer still, until it felt like she’d been shrink-wrapped alive. She couldn’t tell if it was getting worse or her panic just made it feel that way.

  She turned for the stairs just as the young orc came running down and almost collided with her. Her body lurched aside on its own, gravel rattling loose as it moved without her consent.

  “Did you just…? I felt a level up.” He blinked, the words dying on his tongue.

  The young orc frowned at her once, then brushed past toward the room where three sick people rested. At least one of them, Zara suspected, was resting far too deeply.

  She wanted to be outside, yet part of her was curious what the little orc would do. She’d noticed the herbs, the mortar and pestle in the other room, and even the setup upstairs. This place was clearly some kind of apothecary.

  Zara followed the orc into the room. He ignored her and stopped at the nearest bed, where a young man lay. He didn’t need to look long, however, as he too promptly spotted it: the tell-tale color that had turned even more pronounced since Zara had brought him from the party room.

  “I’m sorry.” He bowed his head, his lips moving soundlessly with words that lived only inside his head.

  So I guess they were trying to help them after all. Maybe they could help… me?

  When his silent prayer ended, the orc moved to the next bed, which held the older orc’s still form. Zara found this one harder to assess. Orcs were already green, and she had no way of knowing if they displayed illness the same way humans did. In truth, she had no idea what was wrong with any of them.

  He looked at the orc’s scars, his face, gently touched his chest, then sighed.

  “I’m sorry… Master Khurak did his best. It wasn’t enough. I wish it had been.”

  Another moment of silence passed. Zara could see the boy distraught. He’d been ready to cry the last time she saw him. Now it was worse. Much worse.

  Have I landed here in the middle of a plague? I wish I could talk. Just once.

  She watched him say his silent prayer with no less reverence than he had for the first man, before moving on to the final bed.

  Zara was afraid of that bed. Afraid of who lay in it. Even glancing that way, she felt the brush of whispers, thoughts that weren’t hers. They weren’t words exactly, more like an insistence pressing at the edges of her mind and tugging at her. It told her she wanted to be close, to reach out, to protect.

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  Whoever was there was the best friend she didn’t know she had. The companion she had always wanted. Someone who would understand her without needing to be told. Someone who would never turn away.

  The longing hit so suddenly it left her unsteady, like stumbling across a missing piece she hadn’t realized was gone until that moment.

  Not again. She fought to wrestle back control of her thoughts, retreating until her back touched the wall. Looking down, she saw fine cracks webbing across her torso. They weren’t deep yet, but any one of them might spread if she pushed too hard.

  The noise made the young orc notice her.

  “Oh, it looks like the spell’s time is almost up. Don’t worry, I’ll summon you again.” He gave her the smallest of smiles.

  Thanks for the thought, but I don’t think you’ll be summoning me again. He doesn’t even know I’m here.

  The young orc tilted his head slightly. “You’re… different from the others I’ve summoned.”

  She wanted to shrug, but stopped herself. Even small movements felt costly right now.

  Turning around, he started examining the redheaded woman. From where Zara stood, she caught only half his face: first a smile, then a frown, then a smile again.

  “You… didn’t look like this before, did you?”

  He reached out a hand toward the woman and whispered something under his breath. A soft green light bloomed across his palm, wrapping his hand like a glove. He slid it slowly from her feet to her forehead, practiced and steady, his eyes closed in focus. To Zara, though, it looked like something out of a storybook.

  “No… still the same. You look different, but you’re not better.“

  Was that magic? …No, of course it was. This stone body is magic. But different… different how?

  Zara knew this was a bad idea, but she’d shaken off the strange thoughts twice already. Once more would be safe. Wouldn’t it?

  She crept closer, edging toward the bed. The first detail to emerge was a tumble of neck-length red hair, scattered over a crude pillow. Unease washed over her. She shifted her gaze downward, across the rough, baggy garment the woman wore, until her knees came into view.

  This isn’t right, she thought. I’m sure that dress reached below her knees when I picked her up.

  It would have been easy to miss, since she’d only seen the woman lying down before, but now she seemed taller. No matter her age, that kind of change shouldn’t have been possible in such short time. Maybe she was just imagining it. She had avoided looking at her before, after all.

  The next detail to catch her attention was the woman’s skin. She was sure it had been fair before, yet now, with less light, it looked just a touch closer to white. It was beautiful. And it was wrong.

  The figure looked both alien and familiar, lying on her side facing the wall just as she’d been placed. She hadn’t moved an inch.

  “She’s sick, we’re trying to make her better.”

  The young orc noticed her approach and started talking at once, though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.

  “Master Khurak thought he could save them. The other two are gone. She’s the only one left.” His voice broke on the last words, thin and uneven.

  Zara only half registered what the young orc was saying. Her thoughts were tangled somewhere between curiosity and apprehension as she came closer to the bed.

  “You don’t look comfortable,” the orc murmured as he reached for the redheaded woman’s shoulder. She was still on her side, her right arm tucked awkwardly beneath her.

  Don’t touch her!

  Too late, he gently tugged on her shoulder and turned her on her back. Zara got an instant jolt of alarm as the woman came into view.

  Her face was pale and still, too motionless to be anything but unsettling. Yet the longer Zara studied her, the more the shape of the jaw, the line of the lips, the set of the brow pressed on her with a nagging sense of familiarity. Then she saw them — four freckles scattered on the woman’s right cheek in the exact same pattern she’d seen in the mirror countless times. A chill crept through her as recognition set in. She wasn’t looking at a stranger at all. She was staring at her own face.

  Zara froze. This shouldn’t be possible. This was her face. Hers. Not someone else’s. Her thoughts scattered, breaking apart. Horror. Bewilderment. Realization. All hitting at once.

  She couldn’t help herself. She leaned over the bed, drawn to get a clearer view. Maybe the light was wrong. Maybe…

  “What are you doing? Leave her alone!” a nearby voice said, so faint she could barely hear it.

  The tight constriction she’d carried all along came back with a vengeance. She knew her stone body didn’t breathe, yet she felt like she wanted to. Needed to.

  Can’t. Breathe. Too tight. Hurts. Won’t stop.

  She stood directly over the woman’s body. Her body. Hers.

  She felt the order already seeping through her, urging her to move. The tightness in her chest was overwhelming. A stony finger reached out, and she touched the woman’s—no, her face.

  Release. Every trace of discomfort vanished. Darkness.

  Comfort. Peace. A deeper darkness.

  Soon after, it felt as though she were lying somewhere soft, almost welcoming. The comfort lasted only a moment before it collapsed into panic — her chest heaved, her throat seized, and she was choking. This wasn’t illusion. This was real.

  She bolted upright in the bed, hacking and coughing as if her lungs were full of grit. Sand and dust clung to her skin, scattered across the sheets, rising in little clouds with every desperate movement. Her hands clawed at the air, trying to catch a breath that wouldn’t come, waving frantically as she gasped and wheezed. Her chest burned, her throat raw, every cough shaking more dust free. Then her eyes dropped to her hands, not stone this time. Human. Coated in grit, trembling as her fingers flexed. Her strength gave out, and she collapsed back onto the bed, dust swirling up around her, before the world went dark.